


Projections at Midnight

by beesucculent, EchoingHowls



Category: Banana Bus Squad
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi, disphoria
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-23 12:02:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23744440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beesucculent/pseuds/beesucculent, https://archiveofourown.org/users/EchoingHowls/pseuds/EchoingHowls
Summary: A collection of drabbles with no rhyme or reason except the title of the work
Relationships: Marcel | BasicallyIdoWrk/Scotty | fourzer0seven
Comments: 1
Kudos: 10





	1. Building courage

A warm breeze billowed and tousled the grass and leaves.   
Clouds blotted out a few stars, but for the most part they were visible.

Scattered like dust on a sheet they glistened and shone with their solemn glow.

The moon was full, sitting atop the clouds like an old queen, long-widowed yet still hung on her husband's death.

Or maybe her wife.

Or even just her partner.

I don't know the moon’s preference. 

Anyway, it was a dark and solemn night.

I think I got that part through.

Lying on a hill beneath this night sky, was Scotty.

His hair was twitching with the grass around him, his eyes trained on the stars and yet thoughts drifting farther away than the clouds.

He took a deep breath of the warm air, the faint floral scent of spring dancing daintily along the breeze. His lungs were slightly compressed, but it had become such a constant he hardly noticed.

Although, even if the lack of oxygen was easily forgotten about, the things that sat atop his chest were almost constantly in his mind.

Something that made it ever harder for him to shower without wanting to cry. The very thing that made him want to either never sleep again or never wake up from his slumber.   
  


He had cut his hair, he had done exercises, but his money was short and although being in public was getting easier, just existing seemed to be getting harder.

Scotty sighed, relishing in the fraction of a second when his body felt like what he knew it should be.

However, when he started breathing again the dread returned.

The dread of never being able to become who he knew he was.

His phone buzzed and Scotty checked it.

It was Marcel.

“Hey babe, I made hot chocolate if you want some.”

Scotty didn’t respond and dropped his phone in the grass.

He took another deep breath before holding it.

Then, he grit his teeth and jumped to his feet.

He was going to tell Marcel.


	2. Clothing Haul

The rustle of plastic bags was the only sound in the room.

The bags were rustled and moved until their contents were spilled onto the bed, and then they was thrown to the side.

A pile of shirts and hangers now sat on the messy sheets, but the person standing in front of it didn’t care.

He quickly pulled his current shirt off and grabbed the new one on top.  
When his head popped out of the hole he turned to his mirror to see his reflection.

He stared.  
He smoothed the shirt out, imagining the chest he felt was the one he had and not the one that was being compressed.

He grimaced before pulling the shirt off and returning to the pile.  
He tried on another.  
And another.  
And another.

He never wore them longer than a minute.  
They all came from the men’s section, yes.  
And that was exciting enough already,  
But...  
One of them still showed his hips.  
One of them had flowers.  
One was too tight on his chest.

He was down to the last two shirts.  
He had been most excited about these.  
They were button ups, but he didn’t have enough patience to completely unbutton them and he just pulled the first one over his head.

He looked in the mirror.  
And saw... a guy.  
Someone who if he saw them walking down the street would he would think, “what a cool guy”.  
For the first time in a while,  
He smiled.  
He smoothed his hair and pulled at the shirt a bit.

He finally felt comfortable.  
He didn’t get a blast of euphoria,  
But he didn’t fucking care.

He looked like a guy.  
Like he always knew he was supposed to. 

“Jessica! Time for dinner!”  
The guy in the mirror flinched at the name.

“Don’t worry,”  
He said to the kid in the mirror,  
“They’ll call you Jonathan soon enough.”


	3. Pleading for Rain

It was perfect outside.  
It wasn’t too hot nor too cold.  
The clouds made the sky dark and gray, but the sun still shone her silver light through them.

A storm was brewing.  
Jonathan could tell because the wind was beginning to pick up.  
It tousled and played with the branches of the trees high above, and rolled through the grasses as they rustled and whispered.  
But where he stood, it was only a breeze for now.  
One that tugged at his hair and gave his eyes something to watch.

He could smell the rain on the wind, threatening to spill at any moment.  
He was grateful for his noise canceling headphones, so his music could bounce around his skull without deafening him.

The sun breached a patch of clouds and he silver light turned gold.  
He frowned.  
He really wanted it to rain.  
He wanted to feel it hit his face as he closed his eyes and let the storm have its way with him.  
But as the sun grew stronger, the wind died down.  
A seed of doubt wedged itself into his heart as the chance of rain began to die out.

He closed his eyes and let the sun cast his rays.  
It was warm.  
It wasn’t the cold rain he wanted.  
He sniffled.  
The sun was probably way better for him than the rain anyway, considering he was getting a cold.

Jon sighed and kicked a rock.  
He wanted to feel the cold.  
Wanted to feel it strip away his warmth, and with it, his worries.  
He wanted the anxieties that bubbled in his gut to quiet.  
He wanted his messy hair to stick to his face because then it wouldn’t be obvious he didn’t care.

If it rained it would distract him from his empty wallet and his bound chest.  
He wouldn’t have to fret about getting a job the moment he was back in town.  
Or if his new roommates would accept him for who he is.

As the remnants of the storm were burned away by the sun, Jonathan sighed.  
His phone pinged but he didn’t want to read it.  
If he read it, he would have to put on a mask and pretend everything was okay.  
He was exposed out here.  
He wanted the rain so bad.

His phone binged again and Jon swallowed the tears that were approaching.  
As the sun’s rays brushed his back, he went inside.


End file.
